SSV Normandy, 2287. My mind was reeling with the implications of everything that had just happened. Everything that was happening. There I was, standing in the cargo bay of the fucking Normandy next to Commander Shepard, having just escaped the Reaper invasion and changing the course of history dramatically. As far as I remember, there was nothing that ever mentioned civilians getting picked up while Shepard escaped, let alone me and my cousin being two of those civilians.

The only two, far as I could see. Anderson had been right: Normandy was manned by a skeleton crew, and one with more than a few bones missing. Shepard, Kaidan, James, and the two Marines who’d joined us were the only people occupying the cargo bay aside from Troy and I. Granted, there could be substantially more on the upper decks, but unlikely. They’d just opened the hatch in the middle of a Reaper invasion; any and all combat-able personnel should have been at that door ready to gun down whatever atrocities had beset Shepard and Anderson. As it was, we were the only ones there.

I looked for Troy and found that he had the same confused face I imagined I was wearing. I couldn’t even begin to attempt questioning our situation because I didn’t fully understand what that situation was. Were we in some alternate reality where the events of the games were actually history? If so, was history as we knew it up until 2016 accurate? Once more, if so, did that mean we were in an alternate reality, or just the future, which would imply that the guys at EA and BioWare had somehow accurately predicted a full two hundred years of events they should have had no knowledge about? Confusing as hell and fucking wordy, I know, but at that point all my thoughts were jumbled into one continuous stream of if-then questions.

Regardless, all of these questions didn’t hold a candle to the big one. Was it possible for us to change things? That was the real kicker. If so (and bear with me, because these if-then questions are simply how I solve almost every problem in my life) how in the hell were we supposed to do that? As soon as someone started asking questions about us we’d be screwed. I’m as good a liar as anyone else—and better, if you ask any of my ex-girlfriends—but we were in the future! They could find out in a split-second that we had no business existing in that time period. Even our clothes were sure to give us away.

I’m often surprised at how I ever managed to survive twenty-one years of life, as much as I overthink things.

Shepard and her crew were already over at the comm station listening to Hackett’s new orders, so I gave Troy a questioning glance. Didn’t know if we should introduce ourselves or simply let the Commander do her thing. Hell, I was just hoping we hadn’t shattered the fabric of space-time simply by boarding the Normandy. Shit like that happens in Star Trek all the time and the side-effects are usually pretty singular: everyone gets fucked. Any more interference on our part might do more harm than good.

“That was pretty courageous of you,” someone said, and I shot to my left to find who the voice belonged to.

It was the medic, of all people. She and the other soldier had removed their helmets so I could finally get a proper look at them. An attractive young woman, early twenties maybe, long brunette hair and incredibly sparkly blue eyes. Odd. I thought soldiers were made to keep their hair short so it didn’t interfere with their field of vision. That and—no disrespect to the brave women who join the armed forces—you usually don’t see fucking models in the military.

The guy, on the other hand, was the absolute epitome of military life. Lean, squared jaw, pointed nose that had been broken more than once, pale, sunken eyes, and a disposition that could have made a turian blink. Classic military buzz cut.

“Uh, thanks,” I replied, not knowing if I should continue the conversation or not. Temporal paradoxes and all that nonsense.

“That, or you had a krogan testicle implant,” the soldier added, a slight smirk on his face. Strange. I thought he’d be pissed about our little deviation from his mission parameters. Then again, they’d both followed us willingly to Normandy, so they had to have seen some small amount of merit in the plan.

“To be honest I don’t know what the hell I was doing,” I said, taking a seat on a cargo crate because my abdomen was starting to ache. “I just saw the Reapers and thought I was gonna bleed out, so fuck it. Why not go down blazing?”

“That shit was fucked,” Troy said, looking at the ground with raised brows. We’d seen some crazy shit go down in our day but this was easily the most horrifying.

“Corporal Sorola,” the soldier said, offering his hand. I was too weak to offer a decent shake, but even had I been at full strength I think the Marine’s hand still would have crushed mine. Troy gave him a weak one as well, understandable given our situation. “This is Daniels, unit field medic.”

“I believe we’ve met,” Daniels said, bringing her omni-tool to life. Weird as shit. In the games they never actually describe how omni-tools work—at least not that I know of—so it was a bit interesting to find that in the case of a soldier, it was linked to their armor VI and came to life upon a mere thought, courtesy of neural interfacing. Without the armor it functioned normally: a small wrist attachment that projected a holographic gauntlet allowing full user control.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Wish it had been under better circumstances.”

“I think that’s a given considering what we all saw back there. How are you feeling?”

I grunted. Wanted to say something along the lines of 'like a dying elephant that just swallowed an exploding giraffe' but stuck with more practical conversation. “Like I seriously fucked something up.”

She chuckled at that. “Could’ve been worse. You fell nearly twenty stories and managed to walk it off with only a few broken ribs and an abdominal laceration. A pretty severe one, but nothing that can’t be treated.”

Right. Sure as shit didn’t feel like it. Hell, where I’m from it probably wouldn’t have been treatable. Based on the amount of blood I’d seen when Daniels first patched me up, it was a wonder my internal organs hadn’t spilled out of the chasm in my flesh.

A few raised voices alerted me to the fact that Shepard, Kaidan, and James were arguing over at the terminal. I remembered bits of it from the game.

And yeah, have I mentioned how strange it was to see Kaidan there? As far as I knew it was Ashley that seemed to be the preferential choice of surviving crew member, even as Fem-Shep, simply because Kaidan’s character was so underdeveloped in the first game. Hell, even when I played as male Shepard and romanced Liara I still killed Kaidan. Wasn’t until game three that I realized my mistake—the characters practically swapped likability between games one and three. In any case, it was strange, but I was definitely glad Ashley wasn’t around. I lost all respect for her when the character artists gave her fucking breast implants.

“Doesn’t look good over there,” Daniels remarked. I turned to find that she had followed my gaze and was watching the debate unfold with just as much curiosity as me. “What do you think they’re arguing about?”

As if on cue, and certainly not using his head, Troy answered. “Admiral Hackett and Councilor Anderson just ordered Shepard to leave earth and find a way to defeat the Reapers. We’re heading to Mars. Vega over there doesn’t like the idea of stranding everyone on earth.”

I gave him an inconspicuous punch on the arm and a “shut the fuck up” look. It took a second, but then he realized his mistake and mentally told himself the same thing.

“He has really good hearing,” I explained to the soldiers.

“Gene mods?” Sorola asked.

“Uh . . .” It doesn’t say much about my Mass Effect fandom that I had no idea what he was talking about. I did the second he explained it, of course, but having just witnessed a lifetime’s worth of real action in the Mass Effect universe, some of the little details slipped my mind.

“You’re not military?” he continued when I offered no answer.

“Hah, not even close,” Troy answered.

“Sorry, I just thought . . . when I saw the way you handled those weapons and how you worked with the unit . . .”

“Just basic weapons training,” I finished quickly, not wanting to elaborate on exactly what we knew or how we knew it. “Nothing formal.”

“Hm. Well too bad you didn’t have any basic medical training,” Daniels said, “otherwise you’d have known to take it easy with this much medi-gel holding you together.”

“Is it bad?” I asked. It was only then that I realized she’d probably been trying to figure out the answer to that question for the last five minutes, but was having a hard time doing so at the rate the conversation was jumping around.

“Like I said, not serious. But we’ll need to get you to a dermal regenerator. I’m hoping Normandy’s sick bay has one.”

That sounds really fucking bad. Only reason you’d need a dermal regenerator is because there’s so goddamn much flesh missing that they literally have to grow it back for you.

Shepard and the others had finished their conversation, I realized. It wouldn’t be long until we were headed to Mars.

Shit, Kaidan.

I still wasn’t sure if there was a way for us to dramatically change the future, but given that Kaidan misses half the war due to one little skirmish with a Cerberus AI, I had to at least try something. This could be the testing grounds, so to speak. A way to see if we could have any impact on the course of history aside from a minor side note about two civilians boarding the Normandy during her escape from earth.

Mind made up, I was on my feet and heading to the elevator in seconds.

“Where are you going?” Daniels asked. I turned to find her and Troy rising to come after me.

“You said I need medical attention, right?” I asked. “I ain’t gonna get it by standing around here.”

I caught Shepard’s gaze for the first time since talking to her back at the LZ. She was . . . surprised, maybe? Perhaps a bit shocked that a young guy like me dressed in what must have been outlandish clothes and a huge bloodstain on my shirt had the wherewithal to approach her after we’d just witnessed such a tremendous catastrophe. Couldn’t blame her. If I were in her shoes I likely would’ve had a similar expression on my face.

“Commander Shepard,” I called out just before the door was about to close. Kaidan hit a button and the door slid back open.

“I apologize, Commander,” Daniels said quickly, grabbing me by the arm and attempting to hold me back despite our noticeable size difference. “This civilian was wounded during the attack, he’s a bit out of it right now.”

Seriously? That was how she was going to make it sound? Well, two can play at that game.

“The hell you talking about? I’m perfectly clear in regards to my mentality. I just need to talk to Shepard for a second.”

Well, maybe I wasn’t going to play the game so much as throw the board aside and rewrite it.

“It’s all right, Corporal,” Shepard said. “We’ve got time. What’s your name again?” she asked me.

“Donovan,” I replied. “Womble. My cousin Troy and I were . . . taking in the sights when the Reapers attacked.”

“I see. Caught a stray bullet? We can get you patched up in the infirmary.”

“Yeah. Well no, they meant to shoot me, although this isn’t a bullet wound. Guess I looked like an easy target compared to the squad of Marines backing me up, but I gave a hell of a lot better than I got.”

I swear I saw a brow raise, but in the games Shepard never really shows too much emotion. Apparently that translated to real life as well. James and Kaidan, on the other hand, were flat-out surprised.

“You let a civilian fight in the most brutal war humanity has ever been in?” Kaidan asked Daniels.

“They didn’t give us much of a choice, sir. We—“

“It was our fault,” Troy interrupted. “We saw all the shit going down on earth and couldn’t just sit by. Might as well have guns in living hands where they can do some good.”

No one said anything. Whether it was shock or frustration was anyone’s guess, but it was getting a bit annoying that everyone seemed to think civilians were completely useless. I mean, I know it’s the army, but really. Who the fuck do they think won the Revolutionary War?

“Yes we’re civilians and yes we know how to use guns, why is everyone so surprised by that?” I asked.

“Daniels?” Shepard uttered, both asking what the hell was going on and telling Daniels to end this little scene.

“Sorry, Commander. It’s the medi-gel. His entire abdomen is pretty much made of it right now.”

“Right. Get the civilians to the medbay. Do what you can to patch him up.”

Whoo, talk about lightheadedness. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but standing to my feet must have flipped a switch. Felt like I was drunk on vodka, whiskey, wine and beer all at the same time. Bad disorientation, even worse hangover. I swear someone had set all the lights on the ship to disco setting; if they weren’t constantly changing colors they were strobing and the entire cargo bay was spinning because of it.

Shepard and the others had stepped out of the elevator and in my haze I barely managed to realize I was being ushered inside. Still, I wouldn’t give Daniels the satisfaction of admitting defeat, and I had just enough clarity of mind to remember some of the shit that was bound to happen on Mars.

“Kaidan!” I yelled as Troy and Sorola stepped in the elevator beside Daniels and I. “Watch out for the robot! It’ll beat the shit out of you!” My senses were slipping so quickly I could’ve been whispering for all I knew, but the stares I got from just about everyone in the room confirmed that I’d gotten the message out.

Satisfied, I slumped over and passed the fuck out.

When I woke up—if you can even call it that; more like opening your eyes after getting too much smoke in them—I saw I was in the medbay. Classic Normandy; shining walls, shining floor, shining ceiling. The whole damn place looked like it was made of glass. Not regular glass, naturally, the glass you can look through and see a perfect image of the other side. More like the really cheap shit that reflects a very blurry version of what’s really there.

Still, super shiny.

My abdomen felt considerably better, and by that I mean it felt like my own flesh rather than some adhesive substance with healing properties. I checked to see if—yep. No shirt on. That explained why it was so damn chilly. Still had my jeans on and I saw what appeared to be my bag and hoodie on the floor beside me.

I was lying on one of the medical tables. That made sense. Apparently the procedure had already been performed and I was just in recovery. That or something had gone horribly wrong and I was having an afterlife experience. My mind works in strange ways, believe me I know it.

“Hey,” Daniels shot out from my right. I was getting more and more accustomed to her voice, believe it or not. “Looks like he’s awake.”

She was talking to someone? Duh. Troy. I was still a bit groggy so I didn’t quite have the capacity to turn and look for them, but I knew Troy wouldn’t be far.

Daniels was the first one to enter my fuzzy field of vision. Oh, so maybe that’s why the walls of the medbay weren’t very good mirrors. Or it could’ve been that they really were shitty, I honestly don’t remember at this point.

“How do you feel?” Daniels asked.

Sweetheart, if you asked me that question any other time I would give you an honest answer.

“Better,” I replied. “Procedure went well I’m guessing?”

She nodded, reviewing a datapad. She’d changed out of her armor and into a game three regulation Alliance uniform—would’ve been a bit odd walking around Normandy in full body armor—and damn but it was strange seeing the difference. For one thing she was about three inches shorter, still a good five seven if I were to guess, and a bit more . . . how do I put this delicately . . . attractive. Not that I was thinking about it like that at the time, I was just noticing the difference for the first time. Curiosity, I swear.

“The new tissue grew in quite well all things considered.”

I raised a questioning brow.

“You did tell Major Alenko to watch out for a dangerous robot.”

Ah yes. And now the unpleasantness was about to begin.

I sat up and kicked my feet over the side of the bed, angling to find Troy. He stood just a few feet away at another bed, his face a mix of gratitude that I was okay and worry that I’d spilled a little too much in my medically-induced vulnerability.

“You all right bro?” he asked, and he meant the question in more ways than one.

“I’m good. How long was I out?” I asked neither of them in particular.

“About an hour,” Daniels replied, walking from her position at the end of the bed to my side. Her omni-tool came to life immediately and she started taking scans. “Never used medi-gel before? Tends to have a bit of an effect on you if you’re not used to it. Especially when used in such a large quantity.”

I chuckled. “Never had reason to before today.”

“Well you’re in remarkable shape for a civilian, aside from your lungs. Smoker?”

Heh. I always knew that was going to bite me in the ass one day. I’d just hoped that by putting off seeing a doctor I could live in blissful ignorance as to just how bad I was. And yes, I’m aware that smoking is a terrible habit and has become more of a taboo in our modern society than being in a relationship with an inanimate object. The way I see it, we’re all going to die at some point. Whether I die tomorrow or fifty years from now, I really don’t give a shit, so I might as well take away some of the stress with nicotine and enjoy however much time I have.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Nasty habit, I know, but we’ve all got our vices.” Thankfully the liquor wasn’t so obvious. Or it could’ve been, but that was probably more commonplace in this day and age than smoking.

“Mm-hmm,” Daniels grunted, eyeing the datapad. “No military training whatsoever? You’ve got the build, and obviously the predisposition towards smoking.”

“None,” I said. “Just like to stay in shape. Comes in pretty handy when, you know. Reapers are invading the planet.”

That got a legitimate laugh out of her. Damn. Guess it wasn’t too soon after all.

“Well, you’ll have to get them replaced if you want to live beyond thirty.”

Wait—my lungs? What the fuck?! Was she telling me I wouldn’t have lived past thirty back in my time? Holy shit! Just . . . fuck!

Apparently Daniels could see some of the bewilderment and absolute astonishment on my face. “Don’t worry, it’s a relatively simple procedure, and you’ve got time.”

Fuck. If I hadn’t made it here, I would’ve been dead by thirty years old. Then again, I was likely to die much sooner in the middle of this war with the Reapers.

Either way, Daniels didn’t seem too concerned about it, so I averted my gaze and found Troy again, eager to get off that line of thought. “You okay then?”

He nodded. “Couple scrapes and bruises, mainly from that damn rifle. Thing kicks like a mule.”

I smirked. Strange sidenote, ever since high school I never willingly smile. Don’t know why, don’t really care. The best you’ll get out of me is a smirk, probably just indicative of my wise-ass personality. Unless of course you say something absolutely fucking hilarious, in which case all bets are off and I’ll laugh my ass off. Otherwise, a smirk means I’m in good spirits and approve of whatever’s being said.

“Awesome. So where’s my shirt?” I asked, standing to my feet and rummaging through my bag to find it. No luck. I grabbed my hoodie—a bit too big for me, which suited me just fine as it ran long down the back and made me feel like an Assassin’s Creed character—and pulled it on just to get Daniels to stop staring. I knew she really wasn’t, but the mere thought that she could at any time look over and see me half-naked wasn’t one I liked to entertain. Hell, despite being so damn good-looking I’m just about always fully clothed.

There goes my sarcastic side. Sorry, I can’t turn it off.

“That shirt isn’t going to survive quite as easily as you, I’m afraid,” Daniels said. “You bled about three pints into it. Even if we cleaned it out, it would smell like blood and dead flesh.”

“I don’t give a damn, that shirt’s got sentimental value. If I’ve got to scrub it by hand with a toothbrush for the next ten years I’ll do it.”

Daniels offered me a bit of my own medicine, a smirk with a note of acknowledgement behind it. She was catching on to me better than I’d thought.

“I can’t stop you from taking it back,” she said, crossing over to a desk on the opposite side of the room and grabbing a black cloth, “but until then wear this. It’ll do the job and it’s not soaked in blood.”

She flung the thing at me and only then did I realize it was an Alliance shirt. Not military, at least I didn’t think so. Just a regular T-shirt with the Alliance logo on back. It’d work for now, so I unzipped the hoodie, pulled the shirt on, and zipped up again.

Okay, fully clothed, all internal organs checked out and flesh back where it should be, now . . . what the hell was next?

Shepard. Kaidan. I had to find out what was happening on their end and whether or not Kaidan had followed my advice. I couldn’t remember exactly what happened between Kaidan and the AI—it had been a year since I’d played game three, after all—only that Vega forced the AI to crash, it approached Kaidan somehow and beat him shitless, then Shepard took it down. Hopefully my warning was both vague and clear enough to get the message through. Leave the damn AI alone, let Shepard do the work.

And then there was the talk Troy and I needed to have about what the hell we were doing there and what the hell we were supposed to do now that we were there. We hadn’t been able to speak openly since we’d stepped out of the airport and it was starting to wear on me. I knew if we didn’t discuss it with each other it was bound to slip to someone else, more so than my little scene in the cargo bay.

“Thanks Daniels,” I said, referring to the medical treatment and the shirt. “Can you give us a minute?”

“Sure,” she said, looking at both of us curiously. “I’ll be in the mess hall when you need me.” With that she took off, and once again I have to marvel at how strange it was seeing a door open by itself. I’ve seen it in games and on TV before and even in buildings like Wal-Mart or something, but watching a door literally unlock itself by spinning a mechanism in the center and then slide apart all on its own was a sight to behold.

But after that brief moment of interest, it was back to business.

“Dude, what the fuck is—”

I held up a hand quickly to silence him. Only by some miracle I remembered that EDI was probably still listening to everything we said. Hell, she was an AI. She probably didn’t even have to listen, it just came through whether she was paying attention or not. You know, if the phrase “paying attention” even means anything to computers.

“EDI, are you there?” I asked.

A beat barely passed before her voice responded. “I am everywhere on Normandy. Although I believe the more pressing concern is how you know of my existence.”

“Trust me, that’s a concern to me too. Once Shepard’s back I’d like to have a discussion with her about everything we know. In the meantime, would you mind turning off the audio receptors in the medbay so my cousin and I can chat privately for a minute?”

“It is already clear that you have knowledge no civilian should have. What is to prevent me from believing that you have ill intentions in mind and plan to further them?”

“Really?” Troy asked. “We’re getting the stink eye from an AI. Oh damn, that rhymed.”

Well, that was new. Suspicion isn’t really a concern for EDI in the games, aside from when someone deserves it like the Illusive Man or Udina. Being questioned by the most awesome AI in the known galaxy was cause for a bit of concern.

“I just saw my planet and my people getting burned alive by the Reapers,” I said, a bit of anger laced into the solemnity. “I swear, we’re just going to have a personal discussion I’d rather not share with anyone else.”

There was a moment of consideration on EDI’s part, during which I could almost see Jeri Ryan from Voyager nodding her head diagonally. For some reason I’d always imagined that if EDI were given a human body it would be Jeri Ryan’s.

“Very well,” she finally said, although it really wasn’t that long a wait. “I am turning audio processors to the med-bay off. I will reactivate them once you leave the room.”

I let out a breath. “Okay, now we can—”

“Wait,” Troy interrupted. Apparently we were taking turns. “EDI, how do we know you actually did what you said you were gonna do?”

No answer. We waited for several seconds.

“Shepard’s hot,” Troy continued, no doubt baiting EDI into answering if she hadn’t done as asked. “Although some might argue you’re pretty hot too. You know, when you get your body.” Still nothing. “Joker wants to fuck you.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re good,” I said, although I couldn’t resist a light smirk.

“Yeah I think so. That or she’s just really good at holding herself back.”

“Probably both. So um . . .” How the hell do you start a conversation like that?

“Yeah. This is eleven different kinds of fucked up.” Troy began pacing the room, looking at the glass window to the mess hall beyond. Not many people in there aside from Daniels and Sorola.

“How on God’s shiny throne did this even happen to us?” I asked, knowing neither of us had the answer. “I guess I’m beyond the point of questioning whether or not it’s real—I mean that wound was definitely very real—it’s just . . . this is fucking insane. If you’d told me that when we stepped out of that airport we’d be in the Mass Effect universe, I never would have considered taking that flight.”

Troy chuckled at that. “Who are you kidding, you know you would’ve gone anyway.”

Huh. Well, maybe, maybe not. I mean, the chance to see the games unfold firsthand would’ve been an amazing proposition, but not if it meant never being able to go back to my friends and family. A life lived without loved ones is not only pointless, but heartbreaking. Besides, the war of ME3 isn’t the ideal game reality to find oneself living in.

I think that’s when it hit me for the first time that I might never be able to go back. There was nothing to miss in terms of material possessions or a fascinating career, but the people I cared about . . . the thought of never seeing them again hit me like a cannonball to the chest.

So if all that has meant the most to me isn’t present after my last breath, count me with the fallen sheep and send me to the depths.

The lyric blurred through my mind. There was a line by Being As An Ocean that applied in just about every situation in life. In this case, the lead singer Joel was talking about loved ones who didn’t share his faith not being around in the afterlife. Dunno if you’re a religious type—I’m really not, I only believe in God and the law of love—but lyrics like those always stick out to me. The kind of thing I can relate to. Troy and I had had more than one discussion about what it would be like to have to live without our family and friends.

In this case, it may actually be true. If we were really in the future and this really was our reality, they were already dead. If it were a different reality, the possibilities were endless. There may be an infinite number of variations of our loved ones, in which case they weren’t truly dead. Or they may not even exist in some realities.

Damn, quantum theory can produce some interesting thoughts.

“So what do we do?” Troy asked.

I’d been wondering the same thing ever since the airport. Shook my head. “I dunno. I mean, do we tell Shepard? Do we try to stop what’s going to happen? Do we try to figure out how the hell we got here so we can get back? I don’t know what we’re supposed to do in this situation.”

He nodded. Neither of us could even look each other in the eye, there was so damn much to consider. You ever feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders? In this case it really seemed like it was, because with as much as we knew about what was coming for Shepard and the galaxy in general, we could prevent a lot of bad shit from happening. Maybe even come up with a way to stop the Reapers that didn’t involve destroying all technology in the galaxy, merging synthetic life with organics, or merely assuming control of the Reapers.

Heh. Assuming control. ME2 throwback.

“What if we tried to make a difference?” Troy asked. My eyes found his for just a moment and he knew how crazy it sounded. “I mean think about it, you already started us down that road with Kaidan. I’m assuming that’s what you were trying to do, keep him out of the hospital for half the war.”

I nodded, staring at the floor. “Yeah.”

“So with all the knowledge we have about the future, doesn’t that mean we almost have an obligation to try and change some of it? I mean there’s some pretty shitty stuff that can be avoided if we just threw a little advice out here and there.”

“But then you have to consider what we might do to the timeline. Think about it; yeah there’s some crazy shit that goes down during the war, but if it doesn’t happen exactly like that there may not be any chance to save this cycle from the Reapers. You watched Butterfly Effect, right? Even the smallest change can fuck things up pretty bad.”

“Isn’t that a chance we should take? Be honest with yourself, are you okay with just letting things play out the way they do? Thane dies, Mordin dies, Legion, Anderson, Shepard—how can we just sit on our asses while all this shit goes down? Even if it’s worse, which I think we both know it can’t really get much worse, at least we’ll be trying to make it better.”

Honestly, I couldn’t argue with him. I wanted to try as much as he did, but my more logical half kept voicing the same concerns on a loop. Temporal paradox. We might make it worse. There was no guarantee that we could even change anything in a significant way.

On the other hand, what would that make us if we didn’t try? I knew Troy, I knew he was set on this plan no matter how many reservations I had about it. If you have the chance to save lives—billions of them, in fact—what kind of coward does that make you if you don’t take it?

I shut my eyes, as much attempting to resolve the situation in my mind as to relieve the headache forming behind them. Another of my curses: chronic headaches, often advancing to migraines. Maybe there was some kind of treatment in this future that could stop all hell from breaking loose in my skull.

“Okay,” I finally said. “We’ll see what we can do when Shepard gets back. If Kaidan comes back in one piece we’ll at least know we can have an impact on changing things. If not, we’ll try something else with a bit more direct influence.”

“Like what?”

“There’s plenty of things we can change bro. Once we leave Mars we’ll be headed for the Citadel. If I remember right, the Council basically tells humanity we’re on our own, but Sparatus offers Shepard help if she can find the Primarch on Menae. Then there’s Thane; Aria’s been forced to the Citadel because of Cerberus; Udina’s corrupt—”

“Hold on,” Troy stopped me. “Udina?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“When we were on earth we kept referring to Anderson as the Councilor, and no one corrected us. What if Udina’s not even Councilor? What if there are a few things different here than in the games?”

Damn, he was right. Could’ve just been that everyone was still familiar with calling Anderson the Councilor, but unlikely. The Marines preferred calling him Admiral and only called him Councilor because it was necessary due to his status. What I mean is that if he weren’t Councilor someone would have spoken up and said so.

Shit. What if there were some differences? What if all our information was inaccurate? Obviously not all of it was, because we knew where to find Normandy and that we were going to Mars, just like the game. Hopefully there were only small differences.

Then again, Butterfly Effect. Small differences create larger ones down the road.

“So the Cerberus attack,” I said, back to our discussion.

“Might not happen without Udina.”

“No, you know the Illusive Man, it’ll happen. He’ll find a way. Which means that until something happens to make us take a different course, we assume that everything is going to happen just like it does in the game and . . . I dunno. We take this seriously, like we would if we really were at war. Which, I mean, we kind of are now. We should come up with some contingencies or something.”

Troy nodded, a brow raised in agreement. I hadn’t even expected the last part. Sounded much smarter than anything I should’ve been capable of coming up with. Made sense though. In a situation like this you don’t just walk into each moment blindly, expecting everything to go according to plan. You plan for the worst along with your plan A and hope that you don’t have to use the backup.

I sighed. This was all getting so goddamn serious.

“Let’s come back to this later,” Troy said, and I was glad for the suggestion. I knew my mind needed a break from all this heaviness.

“Good idea. Everyone will be wondering what the hell we’re talking about in here.”

“Should we tell anyone?”

I shook my head. “No more than they need to know. We’ll tell Shepard, but let’s not mention that this all comes from a video game. Or that we’re from the past. We just say we know things very few people do—in fact some things no one knows but us—and that we can’t reveal how we know it.”

Troy humphed. “They’ll probably treat us as hostile. They’re at war, for God’s sake.”

“Probably. So we just show them that all we want to do is help. If we can achieve that, the rest should come easily.”

Another sarcastic chuckle on Troy’s end. “Because everything so far has been a friggin cakewalk.”

I nodded. “Poor choice of words. But it’ll be doable. We just wait for Shepard, show her we just want to help, and roll with whatever happens. If they listen to us, awesome. If not, we try harder.”

“Yeah. If they don’t label us traitors or lock us in an asylum for the duration of the war.”

It was my turn to laugh. “You know we belong there anyway.”

I think we both needed that moment. It really wasn’t even funny, but we still found ourselves laughing and the entire weight that I felt on my shoulders lightened considerably. No matter what was going to happen, we could do this. You might be thinking it was false bravado brought on by a few seconds of calm during the storm, and I would usually agree wholeheartedly, but the Wombles are a strange group of people. When we decide we’re going to do something, we’re going to do it. Even if that meant getting into a fistfight with a damn Reaper.

After our conversation in the medbay we made our way out to the mess hall, where Daniels and Sorola sat eating something pasty and quite horrifying. And I don’t mean pasty as in color, this shit literally looked like toothpaste they were spooning into their mouths. I learned later that it was standard nutrient paste for Alliance soldiers loaded with everything one needs to stay healthy, but at the time I stared in disgusted silence as they gulped it down.

“Have a nice chat?” Daniels asked, dropping the spoon and pushing her bowl towards Sorola.

“Illuminating,” Troy replied, and we both took seats at the end of the table. “Where the hell is everyone? I know there’s just a skeleton crew on board, but this looks more like a bone crew.”

“All essential personnel are at their stations,” Sorola said between mouthfuls. “Which, in this state, is pretty much everyone. We’re just waiting for the Commander to come back so we can get our orders.”

“And us?” I asked both of them. “What do you think the Alliance will do with us?”

Sorola shrugged, taking another bite of paste, so Daniels answered for him. “More than likely you’ll be dropped at the next Alliance-friendly port. Maybe Arcturus or the Citadel. Although…”

I have always hated it when people attempt to lead the conversation. Sometimes when people end a sentence like that, I simply stare at them, letting them know if they want to say something they should say it rather than lure me into something I’m clueless about.

In this case, however, I was out of my element and more than a little concerned about my identity being nonexistent in this reality. “Although what?” I hated myself for asking it.

“It’s nothing, stupid thought,” Daniels replied.

Have I mentioned how I hate this? Well, I hate it even more when people make you beg for something they want to say. Just fucking say it, for God’s sake! My reaction isn’t going to be any different if I ask for it rather than you telling it to me.

Forget that, my reaction will be much different because not only are you an idiot, you’ve pissed me off simply by playing with the conversation.

“Lay it on us,” Troy said, gritting his teeth just as much as I was.

“I was just thinking, with your combat experience and how naturally you worked with the squad back on earth, the Alliance might actually benefit from having you with us.”

Had Sorola not just swallowed his paste I swear it would’ve been flying out his nose. “Are you serious? You’re not—you’ve got to be kidding, right?”

“Why?” Daniels retorted. “You saw them, they’re both good with a gun, they both know field procedure despite claiming they’ve had no training. We’re in the middle of a galactic war with the damn Reapers. I think we need all the help we can get.”

When we decided we would try to help out with the war, I don’t think either of us had that in mind. I mean, let’s all be honest here. It’s great to fantasize about being a total badass hero of humanity and fucking shit up for anyone who gets in our way, but most of us don’t have the ability to make that happen. I sure as hell didn’t, and Troy was probably thinking the same. Before I’d stepped into the Mass Effect universe, sure, put me in Shep’s shoes. But now that I was here, I didn’t want to be anywhere near a battlefield. That shit’s intense, you can’t even imagine. I was quite all right with sitting on the sidelines feeding information to the good guys that would help them win. I had no intention of stepping into that role myself.

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” I asked. “I mean yeah we know our way around guns, but there’s procedures, training, a bunch of shit we’re absolutely clueless about. Even if we did join the Marines, we wouldn’t be on the battlefield anytime soon.”

I think a bit of reality sunk into Daniels’ eyes after my statement. Her brows shrugged and she grabbed the bowl of paste back from Sorola, to his dismay.

“Still,” she continued, “it’d be a shame for talent like that to get cooped up in some apartment on the Citadel. You should talk to Shepard. Maybe she can keep you onboard for a while; train you until you’re ready to hit the field.”

She just wasn’t getting the message.

“Believe me,” Troy said, “we’ll be talking to Shepard as soon as she gets back.”

“Oh really?” Sorola asked, a bit of a chuckle in his voice. “Because as I recall, that was a very intelligent conversation last time.”

I had to give him that one. Smirk. “I wasn’t at my best, I admit it. Thanks to our brilliant medic over here.” I gave Daniels a falsely annoyed look, which she returned.

“Hey, don’t blame me. I can’t help it if you’re a lightweight.”

Heh. First time I’ve been accused of that, actually.

I was perfectly content to let everyone laugh, distracting them from the sliver of curiosity Troy had planted in them, but I was rapidly learning that nothing escaped Daniels’ notice. She seemed to be more aware of the fact that Troy and I were out of place than even we were.

“You’re not from earth, are you?” she asked. One simple question with such a complicated answer.

Honestly, yes. From earth, a hundred eighty years prior. And yet, honestly, no. This earth was no more familiar to me than the damn space ship I was flying in. Which, yes, if you think about it makes total sense, because the Normandy is familiar to me through the games, but so much was different. The essence of really being there can’t be captured in a game. Same thing with earth. It wasn’t the same place it had been when I lived on it. So . . .

“No, we’re not,” I said. If I had to lie, I could at least be partially truthful to myself. “We’re from a small colony on one of the moons of Antirumgon. You?”

“Iowa, born and raised,” Daniels said, lifting a glass of water I hadn’t realized was beside her in a toast.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” I blurted, a laugh escaping me before I could stifle it.

“Why’s that?” Daniels asked, a knowing smile on her face.

“Believe me, we’ve seen the vids and heard the stories about the Midwest,” Troy said. In truth, we had lived those vids and stories. “My heart goes out to all afflicted by it.”

“What about you, Sorola?” I asked.

“Rio,” he replied. “My entire life before I enlisted.”

“Rio de Janeiro?” Troy asked. Then, when Sorola nodded: “Isn’t that where the N-school started out?”

“They’re still there,” Daniels said. “Or . . . were. It’s only been two hours and I still can’t even imagine what the Reapers have done to earth.”

Damn. Way to make a light conversation heavy as fuck. We all dropped our heads, not that anyone had planned to, but it just made sense. There were a bunch of poor bastards living through hell back there. Least we could do was wish them a few good words and the strength to kick some serious ass.

“My granddad used to tell me stories, you know,” Sorola said, breaking the silence that had pervaded the room. “About N-school. He was N6 when he retired, almost made it to the top. Took an IED to the back, left him in a wheelchair.”

“I’m sorry,” was all I could think of to say.

“He was a damn good soldier. After the accident he went on to teach at the academy. Couldn’t run around with the recruits, but he was still a hell of a marksman and he gave them all a run for their money. Said no one but the best of humanity ever survived that place. There are fewer than a dozen N7’s active today, maybe only thirty N’s in total. So far Shepard’s been the only person in the galaxy to actually kill a Reaper. So if there are so few people who can do the job, why are we running? Why aren’t we staying to fight?”

Fuck me in the sphincter. Definitely wasn’t expecting the conversation to go that direction. I thought he was leading up to some kind of happy remembrance of his granddad, or some hopeful monologue about how Shep would see us through this mess. Didn’t think I was gonna get that sucker punch to the gonads.

I didn’t even know what to say, or if I should say anything. Sorola was moping quietly; Daniels was casting a somber glance my way, as if I should know what to say since I seemed to talk so much. Truth is, I’m an asshole. Sorry to disappoint, but there it is. I barely even know how to manage my own emotional state, let alone try to influence someone else’s in a positive way. That’s what Jesus and hippies exist for.

Surprisingly enough, it ended up not just being a moment of total shittyness. Troy spoke, soft but stern at the same time, and I swear I’d never been more proud of someone.

“We’re leaving because it’s the right thing to do. Believe me, I wanted to stay and kill every last one of those shits as much as you did, but that’s not an option. This isn’t a war we can win just by killing more of them than they do of us. They’ve got us completely outgunned to the point where if we destroyed half of their force we’d still lose the war. We can’t do this conventionally. We’re leaving because as much as it sucks, as much as we hate leaving everyone behind, we have to get help. We have to take the galaxy by storm and hit the Reapers with everything we’ve got. Not just humanity. Not just the Council. Everything and everyone. That’s how we win this war. Together, all of us. That’s why we’re leaving. Because Shepard is the only person in the galaxy that can make that happen.”

Holy shit. I didn’t know whether to stand up and applaud or ask where the hell my cousin went. It was fucking brutal. Would’ve scored him +100 Paragon points in the games. In fact I could almost see a meme with Troy’s face and a caption reading exactly that.

Even if Sorola didn’t agree, he couldn’t very well say that Troy was wrong. Plain and simple truth backed up his statement. Only an idiot argues with the truth.

“Well, now that that’s resolved,” Daniels said, attempting to bring the conversation back from a much heavier place, “I think you two could use some rest.”

Really? She was going to suggest a nap at a time like this? Damn this woman was starting to get on my nerves, and at the same time she had this way about her. Like she knew she was being annoying and was only doing it to have a bit of fun. Plus she was fucking always right, I was tired despite the short hospitalization. Hadn’t slept during the eight-hour flight (got delayed due to storms) and it had been a good two or three since, plus we’d departed at 10 am and I’d been up since six. No idea what time it was now, but since we were in space it didn’t matter. I’d been awake for around fifteen hours despite having been torn apart by metal and shot at by fucking Reapers, so yeah. I was dead tired.

“That actually sounds like a good idea,” I said, knowing that I was going to regret agreeing with Daniels sometime down the road. She seemed like that kind of girl.

“Good. You can take bunks in the men’s quarters. Shepard should be back soon, but it’ll still be some time before we reach the relay. I’ll wake you when we’re ready to jump.”

Sorola stood up and offered to show us where the quarters were, but we both declined.

We knew exactly where they were.